Cat and Mouse
by Agent.Q.003
Summary: A formidable new threat comes to Gotham and tests the limits of Dick and Amelia's friendship, as well as threatening their lives. OC. Sequel to Mice Will Play. Happens after the series finale.
1. Prologue

GOTHAM: 5 YEARS PRIOR

Amelia did not know, or care to know, the details of her mother's illegal ventures. It was no secret that Jane was involved in some pretty shady stuff. Judging from the frequent late night visits from men Amelia had seen on the front page of the Gotham City newspaper, it probably was safer that she didn't know.

The men downstairs weren't new, either. She recognized their voices, though she tried to drown them out with the pillow over her head. Amelia never really saw her mother. Jane would go out during the day, then come back at night on a high from some new thing she'd found off the street. Usually she'd head straight to bed, but sometimes she'd come in and wake Amelia up to read her bedtime stories she was too old to care about. Felix would stand in the doorway glaring at her like _she _was the one keeping him awake, when all she really wanted to do was go to sleep.

Felix was off tonight. He and her mother had gotten into a fight, as they did frequently. Not like he would ever do anything to quiet the voices downstairs, anyway.

She was just about asleep when shouts penetrated her pillow earmuffs. The yelling was new. They'd never done that before. She couldn't figure out what they were saying, so she crept out of bed and opened her door just a crack and peered through. No one was upstairs, so she rounded the corner and sat just at the top of the staircase, in the shadows. Her fingers curled around the dark, polished wood to keep herself from jumping as the shouts echoed through the house.

Three men were down in the living room, all of them wearing black ski masks. Her heart raced. What was she doing out here? She should be in bed. Her mother would be furious if she found out she was watching. But, judging by the dazed look on Jane's face as she stared blankly up at the men, she probably didn't even know what was going on.

She was sure it was a scary situation. Or, rather, that she was supposed to be scared. She wasn't. She should be worried. Her palms should be sweating. And she absolutely, most definitely should _not _be smiling.

Amelia had never seen her mother yelled at before. She'd never had the courage to do such a thing.

She was so preoccupied with her own thoughts that she hadn't even taken in a word of what these men were actually saying. She'd been in her own world, until they started hitting her. There were three of them. One stood watch at the door, one tore all the books from the shelves like he was looking for something, and the other swatted her around. He hit her and kicked her in the stomach and worse.

She lost all sense of time until one pointed at her, and she realized that she was clinging to the bannister with a vice grip and crying. Had she screamed? She didn't know.

He shot at her. She should hear the bullet buzz by her ear.

Amelia scampered back up the stairs as quickly as possible, whirling around and running into one of the offices down the hall. She slammed shut all the doors as she went, which would hopefully distract him if anything. He shot at her again once he reached the bottom of the stairs, but missed. She could feel the impact somewhere down by her foot. He'd been close this time, too.

She hid under the desk, behind the chair. She peered underneath to stare at the door.

He couldn't come through. He wouldn't.

Her breathing quickened as her heart pounded in her chest. She didn't want to die. Not like this. She was wearing Hello Kitty pajamas, for god's sake. She _couldn't_ die like this. She sniffed, and wiped the tears off her face with the back of her sleeve.

The creaking footsteps approached. She held her breath. She covered her mouth with trembling, sweaty palms just to make sure she wouldn't let out any sort of scream. She wasn't sure whether the moisture running down her face was from sweat or tears.

He opened the door across the hall, and she could hear him moving around in the room, calling her name softly.

How did he know her name? What would she do if he came in, jump out the window? No, it was locked. She'd never get out in time.

She was trapped.

The footsteps returned and she kept her eyes trained on the doorknob. _No, _she prayed. _If there is a god, don't let him come in._

The doorknob started turning.

It turned slowly, and he pushed the door open just a crack before taking a cautious step inward. She caught a glimpse of his wedding band glistening in the dim light cast by the moon through the windows. It was inscribed with something, but she couldn't read it from here.

"Come on," one of the men called from downstairs. "Leave the kid, it's fine. Moretti's not paying us enough to kill kids."

Amelia looked up to where the man's eyes should be, but she couldn't see a thing because of the shadowy mask he wore. No sign on whether he was going to listen to his friend.

After what felt like an eternity he sighed and retreated, shutting the door behind him.

Amelia curled up and eventually fell asleep under the desk.

* * *

"Amelia? Amelia where the hell are you?" She was awoken by Jane's voice, walking down the hall. She scrambled to wipe the crust off her eyes, trying to figure out how she'd ended up in the office. Eventually Jane pushed open the office door, and Amelia remembered. Jane frowned. "What the fuck are you doing sleeping on the floor for? Did you get into my liquor cabinet or something? Because I swear to God if you drank all my nice shit I'm gonna kill you."

Amelia was confused for a second, until she realized that Jane genuinely couldn't remember anything that happened the night before. They'd deliberately avoided hitting her face, so Jane probably just thought that she'd fallen down the stairs or something. She had no idea. Amelia stared at her mother in awe for a moment before snapping out of it and shaking her head. "No, mom. I just… don't worry about it."

"Do you want pancakes? I made pancakes."

Amelia followed her mother down the stairs. "No, mom, I don't want pancakes."

"Why? Trying to watch your weight?" Jane sighed and gave Amelia a once over as she sat down at the breakfast bar. "Because I understand. I can cut you a grapefruit."

She spotted Felix standing over in the dining room and Charfield sitting down at the table. He paid her no attention, and sat typing on his phone. In usual fashion, he left the sound on, so she could hear the click-click-clicking of his every letter reminding her of the fact that _he _and a social life and _she _didn't.

Jerk.

She returned her attention to Jane across from her. She felt sick. "I just not hungry, okay? Jesus." She glanced over at Felix. "Felix, do you want anything? We can make coffee." Not that he needed it. It's not like he was here last night, the one time he was actually needed. What use was he? Why was he even here?

His sharp gaze bore into her. "No," he said.

_Well, then, _she thought. _See if I ever try being nice to _you _again_.

Charfield eventually looked up from his phone and over at her. A smile tugged at the corners of his lips and he looked back down at his phone again, trying desperately not to laugh.

Amelia realized that she hadn't changed out of her pajamas. Her cheeks burned and her fists clenched. "Say something, Princess. I dare you."

His eyebrows raised. He was so proud of himself. "No, thanks. I think it speaks for itself."

"Fuck." Amelia rolled her eyes. "Out of hundreds of thousands of sperm, _you _were the quickest? What are you, twelve?"

He laughed, but it wasn't genuine. He was glaring at her. "You're one talk. And you know what? At least my birth certificate isn't an apology letter from Trojan."

There were no words. She had no comebacks. Instead, she snarled and flew at him in a rage. Chairs toppled, and she sent him careening back onto the floor. He hadn't even seen it coming.

She had just gotten her fingers into his hair and was bashing his skull into the floor when Felix tore her off of him, lifting her by the back of her shirt and tossing her aside like a ragdoll. He picked Charfield up off the ground and examined the boy's bloody nose, commenting, "You sure let that girl do a number on you. Go get yourself cleaned up."

Amelia had never realized before that Felix glared at Charfield, too. At least she wasn't the only one.

She could practically see the smoke coming out of Jane's ears. Amelia was sure she would have said something—yelled, probably—if the doorbell hadn't rung.

Great. The last thing she needed, another guest to view her wonderful apparel.

There was a police officer at the door. He introduced himself as Officer Johnathan Cooper. He seemed polite enough, at first. Amelia wasn't able to take in much of what he'd said after that. He was overseeing an investigation on her mother's involvement in a wide-spread drug and arms smuggling operation and that he was going to see to it that Amelia was being taken care of, even if that meant taking her away from her mother permanently. He would make it his mission to see Amelia separated from her.

She was sure there were more details than that, but she wasn't focused on his mouth. She was focused on his ring.

She'd seen it before.

She'd seen it last night.

Johnathan Cooper was no honest cop. He was working for Moretti, someone she'd never heard of before. He'd beaten her mother, and he'd tried to kill her. And now he was trying to cover his tracks.

* * *

Amelia flipped through the pages of the newspaper slowly, her eyes straining over the small print. Johnathan Cooper. She was looking for Officer Johnathan Cooper. She'd seen him before last night. She'd recognized his eyes. She just couldn't place them.

There! She let out a gasp of surprise that earned her a glare from the librarian. She leaned close to the page to see the print clearly—she'd foolishly forgotten her glasses at home and the cold air was far too dry to wear contacts in.

"Gotham's Hero, Homeless?"

Her stomach sank as she read the article further. It talked about how Cooper was credited with finding the evidence that resulted in taking down Falcone and helping restore order to the city. The order was only temporary, of course. The police were making it seem like a bigger deal than it was, probably because it was close to elections. Amelia had heard men talking on the bus ride here… There was already someone taking advantage of Falcone's absence. Another Italian who had kept his head low in Falcone's day, they said he was smarter. They said he may have even helped them catch Falcone to get rid of the competition. That his reach spread father than the DA. A killer who had already slaughtered cops and children alike, but no one knew his name. Amelia had no doubt that it was this mysterious Moretti.

Apparently Cooper was close to finding himself out of the job because of a merger. Gotham City Police Department was downsizing, and it didn't even have enough room for its hero.

Or perhaps his heroics were the reason he was leaving, if the man on the bus had been correct. Maybe Moretti didn't trust dirty cops who could be bought, even if he had been the one to hire him in the first place. A man who had proved that his loyalty could be bought certainly had no honor. There was no room for those he couldn't trust in his new regime.

This man was no hero, though. She was sure of it.

Her pulse raced and she slumped back in the chair, running her fingers through her messy curls.

Do_ not_ think about last night.

"Don't do it, Amelia," she whispered to herself, frustrated, as all the images swam in her mind. Her palms started sweating, and for a second she thought she might be sick.

She forced herself back to reality as she put away the newspapers into a neat pile and made her way over to the grouping of computers. She didn't want to think about that. She wouldn't.

_Johnathan Cooper_.

If Amelia was sure of one thing, it was that she sure as hell wasn't going to let this guy get away with it. Especially not after what he'd done to her mother, whether she remembered or not. She would remember enough for the both of them.

Hero status be damned, she would see him burned. For a city full head to toe of costumed thugs, one would think that officers like Cooper wouldn't be able to do shit like this and get away with it. Apparently that was a stupid assumption. If she said anything, it would just be regarded as a silly accusation made by a silly girl who didn't want to be taken away from her addict mother. No one would believe her.

No, if you wanted something done right, you had to do it yourself. And she would.

She found a website that Cooper had recently created. Because of his impending layoff, he was now hiring himself out in the private security sector. There was a review for his work, from a name she recognized. One of Jane's friends. It said that they were hiring him for an event that hadn't yet occurred, but that they could already tell by his preparation that he was a courteous, professional man.

They were having a party at the end of the month. That must be what they were talking about. Amelia knew through her mother that they had recently acquired one of the world's largest, most precious diamonds, but they haven't made that public knowledge yet. They would wait until after the party, after they were done having over a hundred people at their home, most of whom they barely knew. If it came out before the party, they would have to double the security to ensure its safety.

Instead, they were just hiring a small security team with Cooper at its head. He was solely in charge of this stone's safety.

So, naturally, she was going to steal it right out from under his nose and ensure that he would never see the light of day again. If the law wouldn't work for her, she would just have to make do without it.

* * *

A/N: Hello, everyone! Thanks for sticking with me for so long, and sorry for the break! I wanted to make sure everything was thought out to give everyone the best story possible. This is a bit of Amelia's backstory. I may upload a part II if there's interest, but I already have Chapter 1 done, so I'm going to go ahead and start the story. Chapter 1 starts with Dick and is a little dark, but it won't stay that way for too long.

I also have a Tim Drake fic planned, which I'll start later on in this story since the two run side-by-side. It'll have a much lighter feel than this series overall, and will probably have a sequel eventually. So, some little things to look forward to


	2. Chapter 1

Although Dick had gotten back from Wally's funeral hours ago, he still hadn't changed out of his black suit. Instead he'd gotten back to his apartment, sat down on the couch with a bottle of bourbon he'd stolen from Bruce, and watched the white noise on the television. He'd just started his job and couldn't yet afford cable. It was fine, though. The static was almost soothing.

His tie started to feel like it was strangling him. He hastily untied it with his free hand and flung it off into the dark corridor. That was another thing he needed, a lamp. For the past week he had been relying on sunlight and the dim lighting unit above the stove.

You really couldn't afford much on a police officer's salary.

At some point in the night it had started to pour. Dick didn't really know what time it was, but he did know that he'd been staring at the static for quite some time now. His eyes hurt. He wasn't sure if the television screen was black with white dots, or white with black. He'd been trying to figure that out for at least an hour.

He brought the bottle to his lips again. It almost tasted sweet. He could no longer feel the burn of the alcoholic aftertaste.

Someone started knocking on the door and he almost didn't answer, but then it occurred to him that he didn't really remember anything about the past few hours. For all he knew, he could have ordered a pizza. He could go for some pizza.

He put the bottle down on a moving box he had been using as an end table and looked through the peep-hole. Unfortunately, there was no delivery man. Instead, Amelia stood in the hallway, looking like someone had just dumped a bucket of water over her head.

He opened the door and gazed at her for a moment, puzzled. Her eyes were red and puffy. He remembered her telling him a couple nights ago that she had planned to try to find Selina, who had disappeared around seven months ago after Lex realized Amelia had been spying on him. Amelia had recently gotten some leads and had been checking them out. Obviously it hadn't turned out well, but he knew she wouldn't want to talk about it.

Amelia didn't talk about bad things. She swept them under the rug and pretended they didn't exist. He sighed. "You're wet."

His stare dropped from her eyes down to the rest of her body, where her clothes suctioned tightly as they dripped onto the hardwood.

"You're drunk," she responded, letting herself in. She looked around for a moment and, spotting the half-empty bottle of bourbon, made her way over to the living room.

His head spun. "Maybe a little." He leaned up against the kitchen counter and watched her pace back and forth across the room, shoes squelching and hair _drip drip dripping _on the floor. "Do you want some dry clothes?"

Amelia stopped, torn away from her trance. "No," she said, looking down at the floor. She touched her forehead. "I shouldn't really stay long."

He opened his mouth to say something, but he didn't really know what. He didn't know what to talk about. She didn't _like _talking about things like Selina, or Wally. But that was all _he _could think about.

She watched his face and must have realized what he was thinking. "Just say it," she murmured with a grimace.

"Bruce never found her. And believe me; if you learn anything working for him for as long as I have, it's that if Bruce Wayne can't find it, it doesn't exist. She's dead, Amelia. Don't do this to yourself. Stop looking."

She closed her eyes and her lip quivered. He started wondering if he could have found a way to say that more tactfully. "Someone left me that suit," she pleaded to him, as if he could save her mentor's life. "If it wasn't her, who was it?" She watched him for a moment before shaking her head. "No, don't worry about that. I'll figure something out."

She thought he would be upset by the mention of the world he'd given up. He was, a little, but mostly he didn't care. He liked to pretend it didn't exist. He understood what Wally must have liked so much about retirement. It was far more relaxing not knowing how many people's lives were in need of saving on a daily basis. He was relieved he no longer had to choose who to save.

He should have gone out to California more. He should have visited them more.

Artemis hadn't shown up to the funeral. It was no surprise. He was thankful for that, though. It was bad enough having to confront his parents, watching his mom cry.

Dick must have zoned out for longer than he had thought, because when he snapped back to reality Amelia was staring at him like he was a broken toy.

She thought he was so great. Heroic, even. She had this vision of him in her head that was so much more than what he could actually live up to. It had taken him a while to realize it. She had done the stupidest things imaginable just to keep _him_ safe, on some sick notion that he was somehow better than she was. It was infuriating because there was no way he could ever live up to what she expected from him. How dare she expect the world from him, when she thought so low of herself! She had to realize it was ridiculous! Then, the second he can't live up to her expectations, the very moment he breaks, she looks like him like a stupid, dumb toy.

Maybe he was broken. Maybe he couldn't perform adequately. Maybe that's why so many people had died under his watch.

It wasn't like he hadn't been struggling to keep his head above water for months before Wally had died. Where had she been, then? Out looking for Selina, for a dead woman. When _he _had been sitting there right in front of her drowning.

But, right, she didn't like to talk about bad things. He had to pretend everything was okay. After all, he wouldn't want to upset her.

He approached her and stared down at her for a moment. He didn't know why she made him so angry. She'd never made him angry before. She was a clever, witty, charming, beautiful woman. Dick liked clever, witty, charming, beautiful women. They were his favorite kind of women.

Why, then, was he so torn between his simultaneous desires to scream at her or kiss her?

He was breathing heavily and he realized he could smell the bit of her perfume that hadn't washed off with the rain. He was standing so close that her cold body stole the heat from his, leaving him with chills that ran down his spine.

She looked up at him, confused and expecting him to say something. She leaned in closer, drawn to his heat. She shivered against him. She had probably refused the dry clothes out of pride and the wish to not be an inconvenience, not because she wasn't freezing. The moron was going to catch a cold because she wouldn't even burden him with walking two steps down the hall into his bedroom.

He placed his hand behind her neck and captured her lips with his. She obviously hadn't been expecting it and inhaled a small gasp before winding her fingers into his hair. Her lips were like ice against his skin.

His other arm moved slowly down her side, over the wet fabric that clung to her. It was like she was standing naked in front of him, even though she was dressed like she, too, had just gone to a funeral. His hand rounded her backside before picking her up and carrying her over to the kitchen counter.

Their lips parted only for a moment, when he hastily tossed his blazer off onto the floor somewhere, probably next to his tie.

He pulled back a fistful of her dripping hair so he could kiss her neck. She let out a soft, breathy sigh before pulling away from his touch. "Dick, stop."

Dick unwound his fingers from her hair and took a step back. "What's wrong?"

She stared at him for a moment, her jaw hanging low. "What's wrong?" She shrugged nonchalantly. "Well, in case you forgot, your best friend was just buried. And you're mad at me! I'm not doing this with you."

"I'm not mad at you."

"Yes, you are. I keep hoping you'll get over it. It's not like I haven't done anything for you that you haven't already done for me without _my _consent."

"Why are we even talking about this?" Dick frowned, throwing his arms up in the air. "If this isn't what you came for, then I'm not sure why you're still here."

She couldn't look any more offended if she tried. "You think I came all the way to Bludhaven for a pathetic lay?"

"I've received a lot of feedback in that area and I can assure you _pathetic _was never on that particular list of adjectives."

Her fists clenched and unclenched. He wondered briefly if he was about to be punched. He doubted he could even take her, if it came to it. She'd been training with Babs, he'd been training with the city cops. "I came here because whether you like it or not, you're my friend and I needed you," she growled. "And I'm pretty sure you need me too because you sure as hell haven't talked to Tim or Babs lately."

"My relationship with my friends is none of your business." Dick almost couldn't believe what she was saying. "Get out."

She hopped off the counter and re-fastened a few of the buttons that had come loose on her blouse. "Make me."

He couldn't. He was drunk and out of shape. Even if he wasn't, it wasn't like he could just hit her. And she knew it.

"I'm your friend, too. Stop trying to push me away. Talk to me."

He stared at her, standing in the middle of his kitchen like a stubborn child, for only a moment before going into his bedroom and finding a pair of warm clothes she could wear. He tossed them down onto the couch and pointed. "Put these on, then we can talk."

She glanced at them longingly, hugging herself and shifting her weight to keep warm. After a long moment of silence she nodded, gathered the clothing, and headed down the hall to change.

Dick breathed a sigh of relief and returned to his spot on the couch. He was soon joined by Amelia, who sat beside him and stared at the white noise on the television, equally entranced.

"I'm scared for you, Dick," she said softly. "I can't concentrate when I'm scared for you."

He laughed. "I think I can handle any of the lowlifes they throw rookies at, I'm not that out of shape."

"That's not what I meant and you know it." She took the bottle from his grip; he hadn't even remembered grabbing it. It was almost empty. She let out a deep, shaking breath. "I've controlled every variable imaginable to ensure the safety of everyone I love. But I can't protect you from yourself, and that's terrifying."

Dick swallowed, and shifted in his seat. He rubbed the tension in the back of his neck and stared down at the threads on the couch, because her wide grey eyes staring at him made his head spin.

"I know this is hard to talk about, and when I left you Dr. Carter's contact information I really didn't mean any insult by it. I wasn't there when you needed me to be, so you don't want to talk to me. I get it. But she's really helped me, and I think she can help you, too." She paused and thought for a moment, then added, "Plus, she's signed so many confidentiality agreements that she probably feels uncomfortable _thinking _about clients outside work."

She sure had a silver tongue. Then again, with the face she was putting on, she could have been asking him to tap dance naked in public and he would have done it in a heartbeat. Was this the same sort of charm and manipulation she'd pulled on James for years? It hadn't taken her but weeks to have him head over heels.

Would he ever be able to look at her and _not _question whether she was being genuine? She always knew the right formula, the perfect balance of personal anecdotes, pleading, and feminine charm. Or maybe that was just her, the way she naturally was. Maybe it wasn't her words that always made him bend to her every whim, but her. Maybe he was just looking for a reason to run.

He cleared his throat, dismissing the thoughts from his mind. He would assume she was full of shit until she gave him a reason to believe it.

"Actually, I've already been to seen her. She gave me this, um… prescription." He glanced over at her. Her eyes were welled up with tears, but her mouth was set into a smile that vaguely resembled a grimace. His lips tugged into a frown. "What?"

She broke his stare when she returned her gaze to the television screen. "We're really fucked up people, Grayson. Are they working?"

"Yeah." He shrugged. It was weird being able to talk like this to anyone. He'd never anticipated it. He was in the habit of rehearsing things to say in his head for every situation imaginable. He had no material prepared on this matter. "It's still hard, like today, but for the most part, yes. You?"

"No," she said, finishing off the bottle that still lay in her hands. "Not yet." She grimaced and tapped her temple with her fingertip. "There are some benefits in being fucked up that I still have need of."

* * *

"Is that," Babs rubbed her eyes as if she couldn't believe what she was seeing, "what I think it is?"

Amelia swung the key ring around a slender, gloved finger. "I mean, only if you think it's the Batmobile."

As usual, Babs frowned. "Does Bruce know you took it?" She always had to find something wrong, always looking for reasons to label Amelia the perpetual miscreant.

Everyone's a critic.

Amelia had been helping Babs track down a few of the Arkham inmates she'd let loose in return for Bruce's help finding Selina, though Amelia suspected that Bruce would have looked on his own. He had seemed far too eager to make that deal.

Unfortunately, the searches had resulted in nothing. Dick was right, she should stop looking. That didn't mean Amelia would stop helping Babs, though. She was starting to grow fond of the overly critical girl. She liked to think she brought a little fun and spontaneity to Babs' probably otherwise dull and scheduled life.

She shrugged. "Does it matter?"

Babs already had her phone out, and Amelia only had to guess who was on the other line.

"Come on," she groaned. "You said yourself that you had always wanted to use it."

She glanced around like they were being spied on, cupped her hand over the receiving end of the phone, and hissed, "I didn't mean _steal _it! You cannot pin this on me."

Amelia looked down at her watch with a yawn. "I have some timely leads on Ivy and Quinn. We may already be too late. If only we had oh, I don't know, a car to get us there."

"Nice try."

"I'll let you drive."

Babs clenched her jaw and let out a hum of frustration. Her brows furrowed, and Amelia could practically see the smoke coming out of her ears. She was fighting with every fabric of her being to not give in until she eventually hung up the phone. "Fine," she said, finally descending the steps from the headquarters they were rebuilding within Mount Justice. It wasn't exactly secret anymore, so Amelia had a feeling they were actually just prettying up everything and making sure nothing important had been left in the wreckage. She couldn't imagine that they would ever use it as a base of operations again. "But when Bruce finds out, I'm telling him you made me."

Amelia grinned and tossed her the keys, sliding over to the passenger's side. "I wouldn't have it any other way, Princess."

"So, where are we headed?" Babs asked. She started the car, and the engine roared to life. She tried to keep a straight face, but it was easy to see the smile.

"You know Gotham General's Psych satellite center they abandoned when they ran out of funds? There. Apparently Quinn worked there briefly, she knows her way around."

Babs groaned. "Of course she does."

* * *

They'd been sitting there for hours, in the shadows, waiting. Babs had been scolding Amelia endlessly. Amelia had found out about some deal that was supposed to be happening here, something big. Lots of weapons of some sort, the details beyond that weren't certain. They didn't really matter. All Ivy and Quinn needed was to come out of hiding so they could be caught.

It was supposed to have happened hours ago. In the meantime, Babs had gotten no less than four angry calls from Bruce inquiring as to the whereabouts of his precious vehicle.

Amelia was starting to worry. Like they had found out someone was onto them.

Or like it was a trap.

Babs' phone rang again and Amelia almost snapped at her for answering it until she realized that it was Dick on the other end. She put it on speaker. "I've been trying to get in touch with you for hours, Amelia." He sounded breathless.

Amelia shrugged. "You know I don't answer my phone when I'm out. What's up?"

She could hear him wrestling with his keys, probably trying to get back into his apartment. "I just got back from a date."

"Oh, yeah?" Babs asked, raising her eyebrows and glancing over at Amelia with look that said she was mildly impressed. If Grayson was getting back into the dating game, then he was definitely feeling better than he had been lately. Much more like himself. "How'd that go?"

"She tied me up and beat the shit out of me."

Amelia choked. "I mean, if that's what you're into."

"I could have gone without those mental images," Babs added with a grimace.

"No! Uh, I mean, I'm not…" He was flustered. "She tried to rob me," he blurted. "I knew letting you two sign me up on that online site wasn't a good idea. See if I ever take advice from you again."

"It's not my fault you've been out of the real world for so long that you mistake OkCupid and Craigslist prostitution ads. She was probably just mad because you didn't pay her."

"It was all her idea. I told you not to do it, remember? You two have the stupidest ideas, I— we have to go." Barbara froze and immediately hung up the phone. "What's that?" she asked, suddenly sitting up straight and pointing toward a movement in the shadows. A single hooded figure emerged, a male by the looks of it. Wearing entirely black.

Certainly _not _Ivy or Quinn. Amelia groaned. "No one we're interested in. What, are they hiring people to do their dirty work now?"

Babs frowned. "Maybe they knew we were coming?"

"No…" Amelia strained to see in the darkness. She couldn't see anything, just that man standing there, still as a statue.

Then she blinked, and everything was chaos. The man was surrounded. The trap had been for him, not for them. He turned around in a sharp movement and drew a weapon from somewhere under his coat. When he did so, his hood fell to reveal a head full of golden hair. Amelia's heart sank.

"Is that…?" Babs asked, bewildered. "What?"

In one quick movement, Amelia grabbed Babs sharply by the ears on her cowl and bashed her head into the window just hard enough to daze her. "Sorry," she said with a grimace, and handcuffed her hands together behind the seat. "This is something I have to handle on my own."

Amelia was able to sneak out of the car and into the shadows quietly enough to not get caught. She snuck up behind the nearest attacker and slammed her elbow down into the back of his shoulder, causing him to loosen his grip on the gun he was holding just enough. She kicked his feet out from underneath him, ripped the gun from his grasp, and drove it into his head as he fell with enough force to render him unconscious.

There were two men in her periphery. She shot them both in the leg and disarmed them. She scanned the area, only to find the ground littered with men who were either dead or incapacitated.

Across from her stood a confused-looking, heavily breathing, James Moretti.

He frowned. "Who the hell are you?" he demanded.

Her heart skipped a beat. She hadn't heard his voice in so long. She hadn't seen him at all, actually. She felt dizzy, and made sure her voice distorter was on. It was placed differently in the Catwoman costume than it had been in her old suit. "If I divulged that sort of information on a whim it would defeat the purpose of the mask, don't you think? And it's quite nice, I think I'll keep it." She backed away from him slowly, not overly eager to get within his grasp.

He wasn't impressed. "How the fuck did you know we were here?"

Amelia could imagine a million ways this situation could spiral out of hand. She placed the gun on the ground, raising her hands in surrender. "Relax, kid. I'm just here to help, and now I'll be on my way."

Surely enough, she found herself staring down the barrel of a gun. "I don't think so."

How had she not seen this coming?

She closed her eyes and sighed. "What are you going to do, James? Kill me?"

"With this?" he asked, with a snide grin. "This is just a tranquilizer gun."

Then he shot her.


	3. Chapter 2

**A/N: Violence**

* * *

If Amelia hadn't known James better, she probably would have died. It was lucky for her that she knew he kept a blade in his back pocket at all times. She came to while he was dragging her into some dark, dingy basement. They were underground, that was for sure. The room spun, but she couldn't make out any windows.

He stopped for a moment when he realized she was regaining consciousness. He grabbed her tighter around the waist and continued moving. The floor became the ceiling and she was certain the room was rotating. Bile rose in her throat and she fell against him, making sure to slip the blade out of his pocket as she did so and pushed it up into her sleeve.

"What the hell?" he grunted and shoved her down into a chair. "You weigh a ton."

She couldn't lift her arms. Her entire body weighed more than she could ever lift, and her head hung low. "Thasss rude," she slurred under her breath. The effort made her chest heavy and she fell forward, vomiting on the floor in front of her. It did a little to ease her stomach, but her eyes watered.

He grimaced and pushed her up gingerly with the few fingers like he was afraid she would contaminate him with her vomit. "Gross."

Amelia stared at the ceiling and heaved a heavy sigh. She hadn't been properly drunk in years, but she could put easily put this in the top three stupors she'd ever experienced. "Stupid. I'm a die of an overdose 'cause a you."

"That's a little overdramatic," he said as he tied up her wrists. "You're going to die of far more than that."

"Mr. Moretti," a low female voice asked, "why have you tied up my friend?" Amelia's head shot up to see Poison Ivy standing in the doorway, her deep red hair a stark contrast to the sickly green tint to her skin.

If she had more energy and if Ivy's voice didn't make her skin crawl, Amelia probably would have made a joke about St. Patrick's day coming a little too early. Instead, she kept her mouth shut. Selina had never used a voice changer, nor would she have been stupid enough to allow James to capture her in the first place. If she didn't stay low, Ivy would realize she was a fake in no time at all.

"She appeared at the drop site out of nowhere. Someone had to have told her what was going on, which is probably why I was delivered twelve fucking mercenaries instead of the plutonium I was promised. There's a leak."

Ivy heaved a heavy sigh and took a few steps to approach Amelia, who kept her head down. "Is that true? Did you want the radioactive waste all for yourself?" she asked, running a sharp nail down to caress the side of Amelia's face. "Oh my, did he use my poison on you? He's such a bad boy." Her voice was warm, almost as if she were cooing a child. Amelia held her breath.

She lifted Amelia's face and rotated it from side to side. After a moment she paused, tracing the cord on her voice changer. Her face contorted with rage and she ripped the cord from Amelia's mask. "Who are you?" she demanded. "If you aren't Catwoman, how did you get her suit? Where is she?"

Good question. When she found out herself, she'd pass along the information.

Ivy got close enough that Amelia could feel the woman's breath on her cheek, and curled her fingers around the mask on Amelia's face. "You might not want to do that," Amelia whispered, not loud enough for James to hear. "If anyone without my fingerprints takes this mask off or does it the wrong way, we all die. A little something my friend in the Batcave worked up for me."

It was a lie, of course, but it was something one could expect from the brigade of rodents and couldn't be ignored.

After a bit of fuming Ivy returned her hands to her side and stood tall. "Then I will have my friend here cut your hand off and peel the mask away from your bleeding body." She glanced over at James. "Find out all you can about the leak before you do that, though. You won't have much luck extracting secrets from a corpse."

When she turned her on her heel and left, Amelia breathed a sigh of relief. She could handle James on his worst day in close quarters, a crazy woman with an army of plants not so much. Fighting with James was mental and physical. If she'd learned anything from Selina it was to stay away from people with superhuman abilities. It had taken her a few encounters to fully understand how formidable they really were, and she had the scars to prove it.

Her heart stopped when she saw him approaching her with a hammer in hand. Her grip on the blade only had a few options. She could break free now and knock him out. She'd probably get lost trying to escape, and given her current state, get captured quickly. She wouldn't get very far. She doubted she would even be able to run in a straight line. She could wait for Babs to break free and track her here, which would require for her to hold out until help arrived. This would preserve her identity, but risked a great deal of physical pain and possible dismemberment. Then, the final option: she could use the knife she held in her hand, kill James, and stumble out of here. The only person she would have to avoid was Poison Ivy. Amelia was sneaky, though. She could do that.

Against her better judgment Amelia decided to stick with plan number two, even though she would certainly regret it in a matter of seconds.

"So," James asked, "are we going to have to do this the easy way, or the hard way?" He had a snide, annoying smirk on his face that was just begging for Amelia to punch. He claimed he didn't take any joy from torturing his victims, but he certainly didn't act like it.

He placed his hands on the arms of the chair and leaned over, looking her deep in the eyes. He expected an answer. He really wanted to know how she had managed to find out about the plutonium and how she had managed to acquire Catwoman's suit. She doubted he would even believe the truth. He suspected he had another mole, something that didn't really sit well with him since she had repeatedly sold him out to Selina. In truth, there was no mole. He just hadn't gotten rid of all the bugs she'd planted in the first place.

Instead, she rolled her eyes so hard that she could feel her colored contacts rotate with them. She even spat in his face, for good measure. She may be seeing double, but her aim was surprisingly accurate.

He immediately reeled back and wiped off his cheek with the back of his hand. He flicked the spit to the ground with a grimace and looked like he was going to say something, shout at her. It seemed for a moment like he couldn't even think to form words, and instead he punched her hard across the jaw. Tears sprung to her eyes, but she held them in out of sheer pride than anything else. She would certainly not let him see her cry. She clenched her jaw to keep from crying out.

The punches always startled her. She could see them coming, but she'd never fully been able to brace herself for the sting and ache.

It was far from the worst thing she'd experienced. Why was she hyperventilating?

Amelia clenched her eyes shut just as a dark fog crept up on her vision. She tried to regulate her breathing, and focused on slowing her heart, which was racing so fast she could hear her pulse in her ears.

She was so focused on trying to keep herself calm that when James hissed against her ear, she jumped. He'd caught her off guard. "Where's Catwoman?" he asked. "What did you do to her?" His breath was hot against her neck, and his lips just barely brushed her cartilage.

It was funny, how an action that was once a form of comfort quickly became torture.

He swung his hammer, just like he liked to swing his knives. It was mostly a show, though. She'd seen how he worked. James wasn't actually going to torture her, he didn't have the stomach for it. He wasn't like her.

Or the Russians, for that matter, which were probably the cause of her distress at what was now just psychological warfare. James wasn't going to drown or burn her. He probably wouldn't even cut her. He was just going to smack her around and try to compromise her psychologically until she told him what he wanted. It wasn't going to work.

So far she had let him do it. She needed to get a grip. Babs would be here soon. Amelia took a deep breath and let it out slowly. _Calm. _Babs wasn't going to leave her here. She could trust Babs. Barbara Gordon was no Lex Luthor. She was an upstanding citizen, and she wouldn't leave Amelia here to be tortured just to test her loyalty.

Maybe she shouldn't have been so rough on the poor girl.

It wasn't like she could answer his question. He'd recognize her voice instantly, and who knew what would happen then. He'd probably kill her on the spot. Maybe it was paranoia, but she couldn't help but feel like the radioactive poison was meant for her. She would like to live through the night, if at all possible.

She couldn't speak and she didn't want to get hit again, so she shrugged. It was an honest answer, she had no idea where Selina was. She had no idea what her part in her disappearance had been. She didn't even have a clue as to how the catsuit got in her home in the first place.

Apparently he wasn't satisfied with that answer and slammed the hammer down into her knee with a loud _crack_. Before her body had registered the pain, he hit her hard enough across the other side of her face to send the chair toppling over. It knocked the wind out of her, she gasped for air. Her head hit the floor and her shoulder may have dislocated, but she'd need to be free to make sure.

She couldn't breathe. She was seeing stars. Her entire body was on fire, and she couldn't quite figure out which way was up or why she couldn't hear anything over the high-pitched ringing in her ears that sounded vaguely like a scream.

The pain made her stomach roll, but she didn't throw up until he picked up the chair and sat her upright. The world spun, but she couldn't bend forward. She couldn't move. The vomit rolled down her chin and fell in her lap, the acidic scent burning her nose.

Across from her, he folded and re-folded the sleeves on his shirt casually. He regarded her like he was reading the newspaper, bored. She was covered in blood and vomit and she still wasn't _entertaining _enough for him.

Maybe she had underestimated him. Had he lied to her about what he did when he went out, just as she had lied to him? How else could he stomach it? James felt more deeply than she did in every way. How could he do something without flinching that she had to completely shut down to do?

"You feel like talking, now?" he asked. "I can do this all day."

Amelia took a deep breath. He was close, right up in her face.

So she cut her hands free and in a swift movement, sliced a deep cut along his side and to his abdomen. He reeled back in surprise, and before he was able to retaliate she stood and slammed the chair down on his head with as much force as she could muster while supporting her entire weight on one leg. It broke into large pieces, which went flying across the room.

The pain in her leg took her breath away. She held the knife out in a defensive position, but her balance was shit. She could barely stand. Her eye was filled with blood and it pooled around her contact, making it nearly impossible to see. She hastily ripped them from her eyes while he was still on the ground and wiped the blood that had dripped down onto her mouth.

"You gonna kill me, baby?"

James' eyes widened for just a second before he frowned. He was pressing down on his side, which had covered his shirt with enough blood that she wondered if she had cut too deeply. If he didn't receive some form of medical treatment, he would die. He had a long gash on his forehead. His head was probably just as foggy as her own.

Theoretically she had the high ground, but really they were both done for. James made a scramble for the nearby chair leg. She tried to stop him, but collapsed onto the floor in the process.

His fingers wrapped around the chair leg like a club. He was going to bash her skull in if she didn't do something. But she couldn't do anything. She was useless, she couldn't even stand.

So instead, she held the knife to her own throat.

He froze, his eyebrows disappearing beneath his bangs. "What are you doing?"

"You need me. If I die, you father runs out of resources. He goes away for good. You die. Your mother dies. Your sister and her children, all dead."

James stood there for a moment, processing the information and silently fuming. Eventually he threw the club across the room and tried to stand upright, but collapsed back onto the ground. She might have helped him had her hand not been occupied holding a weapon to her own throat.

"There should be gauze and bandages in those cabinets over there," Amelia said, pointing to the cabinetry on the far side of the room. There was a small, rusted sink and a glass cabinet that looked like it may contain medical supplies. Apparently there _was _a plus to starting a knife fight in an abandoned hospital. "Wrap yourself up."

"Why should I?" he growled.

"Because I said so."

He stared at her for a moment, looking her up and down. His lip curled. "You wouldn't do it. All you care about is yourself. You don't have it in you."

He might be right, she didn't know. She didn't care to find out. She stared him in the eyes, and only let her gaze flicker over to the medical cabinet for just a second. The knife bit into her neck slightly, drawing a small drop of blood that dripped down onto her collar. "Did I fucking stutter?"

Finally, James gave in and half crawled the few yards over to the medical cabinet and propped himself up onto the counter. He removed his shirt and searched through the cupboard, eventually finding the supplies he needed to bandage himself up. He swayed slightly with the effort and closed his eyes.

He wasn't covered in bruises as he usually was, she noticed. He was always covered in marks his father had given him, but today he was bare. If she remembered correctly, she hadn't been able to catch the scent of alcohol on his breath. He certainly didn't smell like cigarettes. A hint of a beard was starting to show up on his face, unusual for a man who had always been more meticulous about his appearance than she was.

It hadn't been that long since they'd been together, but she was sitting across from a completely different person. It was almost comical. She'd torn his life apart, and immediately after leaving her he got his life together. Maybe he had been right from the very beginning, maybe she did destroy people. Maybe she was toxic.

He lowered himself slowly to the floor and leaned his back up against the cabinetry. "Why are you doing this?" he asked. "Why can't you just leave me alone?"

She wasn't exactly sure what he meant. She hadn't seen him since that afternoon at the café, and the only reason why she was here was for Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn. She wouldn't engage him, though. All she needed to do was wait. Babs would be here any minute now. The paranoid Bat-apprentice had probably put a tracker on Amelia somewhere when she wasn't paying attention. There was no way she _didn't _know where they were, was there?

"What do you want the plutonium for?"

He stared intently at the floor.

"James," she insisted. He flinched like she'd slapped him. She swallowed. The guilt for tricking him still weighed heavy in her stomach, but feeling sorry for what she did wouldn't help him. It would only make him hate her more. Plus, he had just tied her up and beat her senseless. "If you don't tell me I'll have to find out some other way, and you'll just regret it."

He glared at her. "I'm getting rid of you. I have a plan."

"Obviously not a very well-thought-out one, if you're involving _those _to," Amelia said, tilting her head toward the door Ivy had exited earlier. "You know they're using you, right? They just want to get the Joker out of Arkham. They don't care about you. They don't give a single shit about your _plan_."

"You don't know what you're talking about. You think you know what's going on, but you have no idea."

"You're delusional. Or do you get off on being used by women? Because you sure as hell make it easy."

"The Joker's going to help me get rid of _you_," James snapped, not even realizing that she was provoking him on purpose. "He knows a guy."

Amelia frowned. A guy? Who? "If you kill me," she warned, "you will murder everyone you love in the process."

"There are worse things than being dead," he cackled, laughing so hard a tear ran down the corner of his face. He met her eyes and said in that nonchalant tone of his, "If you love anything, Princess, if you're even capable of love, you might want to start saying your final farewells."

"What?" Amelia demanded, just as there was a loud bang from the other side of the door. Batgirl burst in, a wall of thick vines following her.

Babs spotted her and rushed over, hoisting her up under the armpits and helping her stand. Amelia tried to shake her off. "What are you talking about?" she shouted over the hundreds of plants that were now bursting into the room with a roar.

She was focused on his eerie smile, which froze her enough for Babs to finally drag her away. She used her grappling hook to pull them both up into a vent at the top of the far wall, half tossing Amelia into the narrow space before her.

Amelia thought she would enjoy being rescued. Now she wanted to go back.

Resting most of her weight on her knees caused Amelia enough pain to make her cry out and start sweating, but if she didn't keep moving forward, Babs wouldn't make it through.

Babs had managed to shut the vent just as Poison Ivy burst in the room, a noxious looking wall of green gas following her. It wasn't until then that Amelia noticed the long scratch on Babs' cheek, and the twigs in her hair.

The shit she put this poor girl through.

Annoyed by her hesitation, Babs sent a glare in her direction. "Go!" she ordered. "I would rather not die today, thanks."

Crawling brought tears to Amelia's eyes, but she wasn't about to slow down. "I couldn't help it," she joked through gritted teeth, "you're just so damn pretty."

"Yeah, well you look like hell." Behind them, more vines burst into the ventilation shaft. Babs stopped and turn around, shooting out what looked like a web-like polymer from a gun on her belt that eventually expanded to form a seal across the entire entrance.

"Keep going," she ordered. "That won't hold them for long, but it should keep the gas out. Turn left up here."

Amelia followed her directions until they managed to make it to an empty corridor. She lowered herself down onto the floor slowly, collapsing against the wall. Darkness crept at the corners of her vision, and she fought to remain conscious. Babs must have dropped down beside her, Amelia hadn't heard her. She grabbed Amelia and half carried her out a set of double doors where the Batmobile was waiting, a crazed Harley Quinn sitting on the hood.

"Kitty?" the woman asked in her shrill voice. "What're you doing here with that stinking rodent?"

Had Ivy not told her? Amelia didn't have time to come up with an answer before Babs had dropped her and rushed at the other woman, bobbing and weaving to get close enough to her that she was able to get behind her. Babs grabbed her in a headlock, and soon she was unconscious.

Amelia, however, had yet to welcome the darkness. Babs hoisted her up and tossed her into the back of the Batmobile with a grunt. "God you need to lose weight."

"And that utility belt doesn't hide your love handles."

Barbara slammed the door shut, hitting the top of Amelia's head in the process.

"That really helps the concussion, thank you."

"Don't mention it."

The Batmobile roared to life and sped away just as Ivy emerged from the front doors, a wall of plant following at her heels.

* * *

A/N: Sorry for the long delay. I've had a lot of school work to do, I'm starting two other stories, AND this was really hard to write for obvious content reasons. Plus I'm filled with the overwhelming urge to completely change Mice Will Play because it's a hot mess and not nearly as ~together~ as I would like so I'm a little angsty. This is probably what I get for posting things as I write them. Basically I'm full of excuses. It will not happen again. (I may be lying.)

Also: I _am_, in other news, really excited about these Tim Drake fics I've already planned. They're gonna be lots of fun (more exciting/less dark/completely different cast of cannon characters).


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